


Inevitable

by Morbid_Hatter



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, M/M, Not All Endings Can Be Happy, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:15:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morbid_Hatter/pseuds/Morbid_Hatter
Summary: Every part of the relationship between Iorveth and Roche felt inevitable. Everything, that is, except for the end.
Relationships: Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	Inevitable

Everything about their relationship felt inevitable. 

At first, it was inevitable that they would meet but be on opposing sides. How could the King's Enforcer and commander of the Blue Stripes, and a Scoia’tael commander with a deep-rooted hatred for humans be anything but bitter rivals? 

But then the third war with Nilfgaard was over. Roche found himself responsible for the death of another monarch and with a commendation from Emperor Emhyr because of his assistance in securing the Emperor’s hold in the North. Iorveth, on the other hand, found himself little more than tolerated in Vergen and unable to stomach the feeling of being an outsider in the place he had helped secure for his people. 

They were two relics of a bygone era and that they met up again just seemed like the next step.

It was inevitable that they sat down together to reminisce, commiserate, and drink too much while doing so. It was only logical that they fell into bed together. There had always been something between them; bitterness, attraction, tension, and attraction. Of course, this translated into rounds of mind-blowing sex.

What came as a surprise to both of them was that they continued to meet up, continued to spend time together, and continued to sleep together. They were drawn to each other and after a while, they stopped fighting it.

Even though they were both more or less retired, they were reluctant to put a name on their relationship. It was as if the ghosts of who they were, those they had lost along the way, were watching them and judging them for sleeping with their enemy.

It was Geralt who gave them the push they needed to stop dancing around their feelings. He had managed to corner both of them individually and tell them they were, in no uncertain terms, being idiots. Maybe it was the earnestness in his yellow-gold eyes or the gentle tone he used even as he told them they were wasting time; but whatever it was, it gave them each the courage to take the steps to tell the other how they felt. 

Everything about them up to that point was inevitable, their feelings just followed along the same pattern. Sure, there were bumps along the way, arguments blown out of proportion, nights spent apart because they couldn't bring themselves to talk or apologize, but it was more than either of them imagined.

The only argument they always seemed to come back to was their end. Roche knew he would grow too old too soon to keep up with Iorveth. His elven lover would outlive him by decades if not centuries, and he couldn’t get over the guilt. 

Iorveth had told him that he would rather have Roche for even a moment than never at all. Iorveth told him time and time again that being together made him  _ happy,  _ and he had so few times in his life filled with actual legitimate happiness that he wanted and  _ needed  _ their relationship as something to look back on. 

"Of course it will hurt,  _ minne. _ But I love you, and I wouldn't trade you or that feeling for anything." That was Iorveth’s favorite counter-argument when Roche would start listing every reason why he was a bad partner - why everything he touched turned to ash.

But Roche found he couldn’t deny Iorveth anything when he smiled his favorite smile and turned the full force of his pout on him. The sex helped too. There was no better distraction from his spiraling thoughts and feelings of inadequacy than an earth-shattering orgasm or two.

The anxiety eased throughout the year they called themselves lovers and partners. They had a small bonding ceremony with a handful of guests who witnessed the pair tie their hands and hearts together. The ceremony settled something between them, settled some of the remaining tension between their friends.

Too bad it couldn't ease national tensions. While Temeria was as free as it was ever going to get - a vassal state in the Empire - the anger and bitterness of the newest acquisition of the Empire grew and festered until it boiled over.

All of a sudden both Roche and Iorveth found themselves summoned to the capital city by Emperor Emhyr. They were pulled out of retirement and dropped back into positions of command. This time they fought for the same side, working to retain peace and squash the insurrection before it exploded into an all-out war. 

Maybe this should have felt inevitable, too. 

Roche stood on the parapet and could only watch in abject horror as Iorveth fell from the tower he had stationed himself and his archers in and plummet into the water. He held his breath, blind and deaf to the battle still going on around him, as he waited and waited for Iorveth to resurface. 

His focus was broken when he found himself pulled off his perch on the parapet just before an arrow would have found its mark in his chest. 

Part of him wondered if it hadn’t hit him - it would explain the explosion of agony followed by crushing numbness. 

The officer who had thrown him out of the way shouted at him over the din. He couldn't hear him over the continuous ringing in his ears but he nodded anyway and stood. Roche swallowed the feeling of dread, forcing it out of his mind so he could concentrate. He'd find Iorveth after it was over. 

His elf was strong and fierce and wily - Iorveth would be fine and Roche could get to him after the battle and scold him for making him worry.

The insurrection broke the pattern. 

Their meeting, animosity, attraction to each other, physical relationship, and passionate feelings were inevitable. Everything felt like it was Destiny. Everything, that is, until the smoke cleared and the noise abated and Roche found himself pacing through rows of injured soldiers on both sides of the battle. 

There was no beautiful elf with a red bandana - worn despite the strict uniform regulations (or, more accurately,  _ in spite of _ the regulations). 

A cool hand grabbed his wrist to stop him. Before he turned around, he knew the person trying to get his attention was an elf, but also not his elf. To his surprise, Ciaran stood behind him. Ciaran - the one person who would never willingly seek out his company. The two of them could never get along and only tolerated each other for Iorveth's sake. 

Ciaran didn't say anything, but the look on his face said enough. 

"No. Please, don't tell me," he begged through the sudden tears burning his eyes.

Numbly, he let Ciaran lead him over to the officers' tent which had been hastily repurposed into a field hospital. There, lying on a cot with a linen bandage wrapped around his still chest was Iorveth. 

In the space between one breath and the next, all the air was sucked out of the world. Or, at least that's how it felt because Roche  _ couldn’t breathe. _

His heart race even as it shattered into splinters. He couldn't see anything past the body of his beloved, couldn't hear anything over the pounding of his heart as it reminded him he was still alive even when the true owner of his heart lay cold and still. 

"I got to him as soon as I could," Ciaran said breaking the oppressive silence. 

"He didn’t die alone, did he?" Roche managed to ask around the crushing pressure in his chest. 

"No. I managed to get to him." Roche watched Ciaran rub his hands together like he was trying to scrub them clean. "Roche, I'm so -"

Roche cut him off. " _ Don't.  _ Please don’t tell me you're sorry." 

As if someone else was controlling his body, Roche felt himself kneel next to the cot and reach out to hold Iorveth’s hand and silently curse at the gods and the world who had taken Iorveth away from him.

He didn't know how long he knelt there, it could have been seconds or hours before he became aware of anything outside of the bubble of misery. "Can we move him? He should be in the forest. He deserves his rightful rest," he heard himself say, unaware if anyone was around to hear his request. 

Still, he had help moving Iorveth to the forest - to be laid to rest as he had been born. 

Roche stood in the middle of the woods as the sun began to rise on a new morning, but he was blind to it. He existed in the liminal space between darkness and dawn, unable and unwilling to move forward. Part of him wondered if he stood in place long enough he would absorb enough of the forest to become part of what was left of Iorveth, to have his body interred with his partner.

As tears fell down his cheeks, he couldn’t help but wonder what happened. Wondered what he did to lose the best part of his life. He wondered what Iorveth thought or did in order to come to terms with losing Roche. If he could figure it out maybe he could do the same thing. 

In their time together never had Roche thought he would be standing by himself, staring ahead at the rest of his life alone. 

Never in a million years had Roche thought he would outlive Iorveth. And now he had no idea what he was supposed to do without Iorveth. Their separation was inevitable; something that was a guarantee when you chose to spend your life with someone whose lifespan didn't match your own.

Roche never dreamed he would be the one left lingering. And he had no idea how he was supposed to go on. 

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever had one of those days when you just couldn't manage to pretend everything is okay anymore? Yeah, sorry guys. My head was in a strange place all day and I had to write something to work through it. Did it work? I don't know, but it's a start.


End file.
